6.38am-6.54pm, 173km, 2000m
My sleep was like a coma. Rachel’s rising didn’t disturb me till 5.45am, when I sprung guiltily into action. While packing up I choked down two gourmet cardboard grain bars purchased in Oturehua. Geof was giving away pizza from last night so I ate a slice too. Chris and Bob, also there, looked unsurprisingly surprised to see me. The others headed off bang on 6.30am but I wasn’t far behind, swapping in a fresh battery before heading into the southern darkness.
For the second time I crossed the one-way bridge against the red light, reflecting my internal disarray. The Clutha Gold trail felt bizarrely easy, a mild gradient rising to a tunnel. A rainbow briefly appeared before I started the downhill glide to Lawrence. I remember thinking how well my body was feeling, pain muted to a background hum, and how good this saddle was…
I caught Rachel and we chatted into Lawrence, finding Geof, Scotty and Dulkara outside a cafe that would imminently open. They’d fleetingly seen Chris and Bob, on a mission to the finish. But I found the idea of sitting down and catching up hugely appealing. We all ordered food and coffee, and I tried to down lots of water, increasingly conscious of my lingering dehydration. The last time I’d sat down for a meal was in Murchison, years and years ago, where I’d met Geof and Scotty. Dulkara filmed us discussing whether we’d ever do TTW again (apart from Geof who was not a fan of the camera). Despite the luxury stop, which included a phone call to sort out payment for last night’s bed, it’d been less than 40 minutes. My favourite memory from that final day. I also had a message from Pete, who’d finished last night, saying accommodation and food awaited at Slope Point, and felt grateful I wouldn’t need to grapple with those logistics.
We pulled out of town and up a hill, Dulkara, Rachel and I chatting. We talked about motivational mantras, mine being stuck on my top tube. Every time I got on and off, I would glimpse its aspirational taunting. After hundreds of dismounts from day 3 onwards, I hated it with a passion.
Breakneck Road went up and down and up and on and on, but the rain stayed away. Along more pastoral roads, I enjoyed chatting to Geof about his Tour Divides and riding philosophy. As we crossed the one-way bridge at Clydevale, some of us nearly had a head on with a truck. I was behind, braking, watching with concern. But it stopped. More gravel zig zagged us to Clinton, clearly lunch time. Riding into town, I became conscious that one pain had risen above the background noise. My left sit bone felt very tender, and I was glad to get off.
We queued up to buy lunch and snacks for the rest of the day, myriad purchases holding up the roadworkers behind us. Less than 40 minutes later we were off. I’d chosen lollies to power me to the end, stowed in easy reach. I also wanted to remedy my dehydration, and would drink nearly two litres over the next two hours.
The main road out of Clinton was uncomfortably busy with blind, wooded corners. I hung back a bit, one eye on trucks in my mirror. But soon we were back on quiet roads, heading south towards the Catlins. The pain in my sit bone steadily increased. On the aerobars it was bearable, so there I stayed. Hills presented a problem. While today’s hills were nothing next to past giants, I was still reduced to walking up one. I tried hard to hang onto the others, knowing if left to my own devices the pain would make me stop frequently and long.
Country roads passed in a blur. I remember twice catching the others on top of a hill, kindly waiting. At one point Geof accurately commented that I didn’t look great and Rachel proffered a piece of pizza. While I ate it, lack of food obviously wasn’t the issue, though I’m not sure I even said that. Part of me was in denial, not quite understanding this injury. It wasn’t a saddle sore so it didn’t really fit into my mental set of ailments.
After climbing into the Catlins, we enjoyed an awesome downhill through forest. I’d drunk nearly all my two litres and wondered if I should stop at a stream to refill. But I couldn’t be bothered; the collective momentum drew me on.
I’d been to the Catlins before and my mental map reactivated as we passed Niagara and headed towards Waikawa harbour. I wondered if I should get water from the cafe but it looked closed, and we only had 25km to go. I looked back and couldn’t see Geof and Scotty anymore. I wondered if they’d stopped to check out the cafe, and kept going.
The end couldn’t come soon enough from a pain point of view. Being on the aerobars had become excruciating, while sitting up was nearly unbearable. I knew there was a hill just before the end and I dreaded it. I stopped to pee, letting Rachel and Dulkara get well ahead. I still couldn’t see any sign of Geof and Scotty though didn’t have mental room for concern.
Finally I made the last turn onto Slope Point road. It was gentle at first and soon passed accommodation where finished riders were staying. They’d come out to cheer us on. Someone took a photo of me and I remember thinking it couldn’t capture the pain that dominated that moment. Soon after the road curved up, climbing 100m. I ground up, grateful it was the last hill, then zoom down to where a track turned off to the end. Dulkara and Rachel had stopped and we had a brief discussion about waiting for the others. But all I could think about was finishing. For me, TTW had been predominantly a solo ride, though today’s company today had made a massive difference. It was 6.40pm and I wanted to finish before the clock ticked to 7pm and 9.5 days.
In the end, the three of us rode on together. When I got to the sign post, I sat down on the ground, rang Richard and cried. Coverage was patchy and he must have wondered what was going on. I was spent and overwhelmed. In that instant, I didn’t feel happy joy; it felt really different from my other race finishes.
I picked myself up. Caleb came down, kindly bringing ginger beer and crisps, which perked me up. We played around taking celebratory photos then, about 20 minutes later, Geof and Scotty rolled in. Scotty’s rear derailleur had eaten itself back at Niagara, and I felt mildly bad about riding on. But celebrating together made our achievement seem real, and my mood lifted radically.
But I knew I couldn’t sit on my bike again. I mentally prepared to walk back up that hill. But Geof’s wife drove Rachel and I back to the accommodation, which I was hugely grateful for. I coasted from that bach down to the backpackers, standing the whole way, and walked my bike up the drive.
A great adventure Amanda albeit with a tough aftermath. Well done to get to the end